


Professor Layton and the Gentleman's Treason

by a_mere_trifle



Series: Professor Layton and the Gentleman's Treason [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Corruption, Gen, i have completely forgotten how to tag, violence and the threat thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 00:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14200993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: Layton assumed that it was over. That Hawks was exposed, undone; would resign, or at the least be ousted.But when neither he nor his backers are the type to concede so easily-- what's a gentleman to do?





	Professor Layton and the Gentleman's Treason

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November,  
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot:  
I know of no reason  
Why the Gunpowder Treason  
Should ever be forgot.

-

Time seemed so fluid nowadays. Perhaps that was to blame. Perhaps it wasn't really now that this was happening. Perhaps it was just _then_ ; perhaps this was just memory brought to life. It wouldn't be the first time this month.

The brick wall was awfully cold and hard for mere fantasy, though. 

He'd attempted to talk, last time. This time, he scrabbled for a weapon. He had seen it when they menaced him into the alley; he would find no rapiers, no finessed weapons here. Not even a stick or an umbrella. There was a loose brick under his hand, though everything in his being quailed from the thought of using brute force.

But this was a recurrence: he had been here before. Not _here_ , it hadn't been this alley, nor the same thugs-- but the same trip. Back from the police station. Back from being told that obstruction of the case was coming from the highest levels. Mind in such a whir at the perversion of justice, upending of the universe, that he didn't notice he was being followed until it was too late.

It had put him in the hospital last time. He wasn't getting any younger. But they couldn't kill him; he had too much of a reputation for that. Hadn't he?

He was older now. He had Flora and Luke-- no-- Flora at least-- to think about.

He gripped the brick more tightly, and threw his first punch. 

He was fairly certain it hurt him more than the thug; he never had been one for the "sweet science". One of the others got him back in the ribs, and he remembered how this would go. Two more, and he was down, and a target for feet, such a more efficient use of energy. Though they'd tire of that as well, and haul him back up, throw him against the wall, head hitting so hard the world went black--

But the next blow wasn't coming. He squinted, finding it hard to focus through the past. The centre man was down; something was hitting the third, something whirring and moving too fast to see. The last was running, as if chased-- was _being_ chased, by something a foot or two tall and dark and hovering. He wondered if perhaps he were still dreaming, mind stuck in the past, skull roughly treated. Chelmey's frustrated growl and helpless contrition. _They want it all swept under the rug. I won't let it go that easy, I promise you that--_

There was one explanation, though, even if it was one that beggared belief. Though again-- it would hardly be the first time, this month. 

Another set of footsteps. He'd slumped against the wall at some point, enough that he had to look up to see his face.

"Layton, you are an _idiot_ ," said Paul.

Layton blinked up at him. His eyes still didn't want to focus. He wasn't sure if that was the result of violence or emotion.

Paul let out an exasperated sigh. "You really thought it would be different this time, didn't you?" His voice was bitter, dripping with scorn, and yet-- he'd heard it much more harsh.

Surprising, given he deserved it. Paul was right; he really had. 

"Given all they covered up to get him into office, all the resources they spent to keep him there-- you really thought they'd just roll over, start from scratch, without a fight."

He really had. To be fair, there had been an awful lot of destruction, and he'd hoped the man's conscience would have been awoken, seeing such consequences to his actions, reunited (however briefly) with the woman he murdered. It hadn't been entirely unreasonable, surely. "You're aware of the 'sunk cost fallacy'?"

Paul snorted. "Well, they've got it bad. That sniveling weasel isn't giving up his power just like that. And his--" He spat. "-- _owners_ aren't, either. They've spent too long buying whatever they want out of him; they aren't giving it up now. In fact, they've got even more on him, now. They own him. They'd have to pay much more for a brand new prime minister. Though I've no doubt they've a couple waiting in the wings."

Layton stared up at him, bleak. He had to be correct; the thugs, the cover-up were proof of that. 

"And _you_. You're just going to walk away again, aren't you? Do the gentlemanly thing and leave London in the hands of a man who's been bought and paid for, who thinks nothing of leaving bodies in his wake. That's what a gentleman does, is it?" Paul scoffed, glaring down at him. "Or else you'll go on like this, and get your fool self killed this time. They can't have such an upstanding personage denouncing them, after all. A simple graduate student could be suffered to live, but a prominent professor? Hardly."

Layton glanced at the thug on the ground. There was a gun in his pocket. The chain of logic, he had to admit, seemed sound.

"The little brat called himself 'Future Luke', didn't he? I guess he was right."

Layton didn't follow-- and then he did, a shudder running down his spine. What would Luke do, his beloved mentor killed by a corrupt government? What could he do, as a child? Nothing legitimate...

But Luke wouldn't hurt innocents. Luke wouldn't descend into the criminal realm. If he'd taught Luke nothing else, it was how to be a gentleman. Surely?

_But I'm not a gentleman yet!_

Layton put his head in his hands. The past may have returned to haunt him, but that would not be the future.

But how could he stop it?

He couldn't give up. Even if he were inclined to, they wouldn't simply take his word for it. Honourless types would hardly trust in the honour of others. He couldn't just walk away again... could he?

Paul was glaring down at him. Why had he been here, to intervene in such a timely fashion? What was that odd look in his eyes?

Layton thought about it, shivering in the chill of the alley. "I take it you have an alternative solution to propose," he said.

Paul grimaced, visibly steeling himself. He winced, his face puckering and twisting. His fists clenched. He shut his eyes in pain. He said, "Work with me."

Layton blinked, startled. Paul went on, the boulder that had taken labourious effort to push up the hill crashing down the other side. "You have the respectability to charm people, get us in with the police, keep us out of trouble. You have the mind to work out any puzzle. I have the disrespectability to cow or dispose of anyone who stands in our way. I have the mind to work out any invention in the world we could possibly need. You find any key, I break down any wall. I may hate you for taking her away from me, but I hate the people who took her away forever very much more. I can't destroy them alone. I can't think of any way to do it. But _we_ could."

They very well might. But he couldn't-- he shouldn't-- a gentleman let go of old grudges-- a gentleman forgave--

"So there it is," said Paul. "You can let them continue, very likely killing you, possibly killing untold more inconvenient people, untouchable, the government firmly in their unscrupulous hands. But you'll have _behaved_. You won't have been _rude_. You'll have left London in the hands of craven murderers who think they can buy everything, up to and including human life-- but you won't have done anything illegal. Your death will be judged perfectly lawful, I'm sure. And somehow their evil deeds will out themselves. Eventually. After a few more neighbourhoods of London are razed, no doubt."

Layton thought of Luke, his child's sense of justice and fair play, his quick and clever mind. Could he really let it go? Would he want to? Would he have the will, when Layton's own was faltering?

What would people who had sponsored this craven creature into office, propping him up with cash and violence, not scruple to do to achieve their ends? And what might those ends be?

"So tell me, Layton," said Paul. "Is that what a gentleman does?"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. The city was humming quietly, light shading toward dusk, the occasional wail of a baby or honk of a horn drifting through. He was alive and largely-- physically-- unhurt. The air filled his chest more deeply, though it caused a twinge of pain in his ribs. He was older, as was the city. That was then, and this was now.

"I'm in," he said.

Paul's eyebrows raised, as if he hadn't truly expected Layton to see sense. He probably hadn't. He probably hadn't entirely wanted him to. He wouldn't enjoy working with his self-proclaimed archnemesis. He wouldn't enjoy the constraints Layton would put on his actions.

But they would succeed. Whatever the cost.

A gentleman could not ignore his obligations.

And perhaps he, too, was not quite a gentleman yet.


End file.
